


Golden

by Ragno



Series: Colors [3]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Getting Back Together, Heavy BDSM, Hospitals, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Masochism, Mild Gore, Painplay, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-02-04 15:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12774300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragno/pseuds/Ragno
Summary: It's been almost a year, they've had enough time to move on. It wasn't really love, anyway, right?BDSM 101: Just go home, kids. The class is dismissed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here we are! I swear for a while I didn't think I'd write this third part but, on the other hand, I couldn't let you guys down and the ending of Purple was... painful. So here you've got. This is the last part of this series and I hope you guys enjoy it as much as the previous ones. I'll try to be good this time, but you already know me... I'm bad at being good, and good at being bad ;)

 

 

Sometimes Ryan wonders why Z keeps coming home to visit him. She sure as hell is the best friend Ryan has ever had. If it was him, he would have stopped visiting himself a long time ago. He’s not a fun person to visit, not like he was before, but he’s even worse now. Ryan tells himself it’s because he’s old. Z says it’s because he’s stupid. It can be a bit of both, or a lot of both. Ryan doesn’t care anyway.

Ryan doesn’t care about a lot of things lately.

He doesn’t care about anything.

He doesn’t remember the last time he got out of home. Thanks to his beloved internet he doesn’t even need to go grocery shopping, and he chose his job for a reason. Working home is the best thing that has happened to him, mostly because he doesn’t need to go anywhere, but also because he can use it as an excuse not to go out too. Nobody would insist on you going out if you tell them you have work to do.

Nobody except Z, of course, but Z… Z is Z.

She comes home every other day, or she tries, and she usually brings dinner and forces Ryan to eat something. She brings really tasty food so she can bribe Ryan into moving away from his laptop. He goes back to it the moment they’re finished, but at least the time he spends eating with her makes her smile and Ryan doesn’t feel bad either. Eating with Z is nice, Ryan doesn’t complain. It’s just hard to find the strength to do it if she doesn’t push him to.

She also asks him to go out with her. To some party, to some club, to any place she goes. Ryan always says no, but that doesn’t make her stop asking. She’s stubborn and Ryan appreciates it and hates it at the same time. It’s nice having someone who cares about you no matter how much you fight against it, but also Ryan would like not having to fight all the time. He wants to be left alone but doesn’t want to be alone. He’s a mess and he doesn’t know how Z can put up with him.

She’s getting tired, though. Ryan can tell. He can’t blame her.

“Ryan, are you coming?” Z asks, but her face shows she already knows the answer. Ryan looks up, tearing his eyes off the screen of his laptop. He’s been looking at it for so long his eyes should hurt, but he’s used to it by now. He doesn’t move apart from his laptop lately.

“I have work to do,” he says, looking back at the screen. He always says the same. He’s been thinking about recording it so he doesn’t need to speak at all. That would be great.

“You always have work to do, and still you’ve missed two deadlines already. I don’t even know how you still have a job,” Z replies, and she’s right. Isn’t she always right anyway?

“More reason to stay at home working, don’t you think? If I lose my job I don’t get paid, if I don’t get paid I can’t buy food,” he looks at Z, making a pause before speaking again. “I like eating.”

“Do you?? Sometimes I doubt it. I’m not even going to look inside your fridge to scold you properly ‘cause I’m not your mom, but I’m really thinking about calling her to see if she can fix this mess.” She looks like she intends to keep on talking, so Ryan just sighs, and close his eyes, pressing the bridge of his nose with two of his fingers.

“Z. Please. I really have work to do, so do you mind…?” He says, tired and kind of bored too. This talk, this never ending talk, bores him.

“And now you’re kicking me out. Awesome,” she says, picking up her purse and taking a cigarette out of her case, putting it between her red lips. “I’ll leave you alone. I hope the next time I hear from you it’s not the police asking me to come by to identify your body.”

“Like they would find me before you do… Who’s gonna call them? The neighbors are used to me not going out.”

“The stench of your rotting corpse would alarm them,” Z replies. That makes Ryan blink, and it’s the first time his mind pays attention to the conversation for real.

“You… are so delightful sometimes.” That makes Z smile, and that’s good because she was too serious again. “I’ll call you. Don’t worry. You just go and have fun, okay? Fuck some innocent sub and then come back and tell me about it.”

“You should fuck someone and make your own stories. You can’t jerk off to memories forever, Ryan.”

“Watch me try.”

 

*

 

 

He doesn’t miss Brendon, he doesn’t think about Brendon, he doesn’t remember Brendon. No, Ryan has moved on. They weren’t together for that long anyway. It’s been almost a year since Brendon walked away from him and, honestly, Ryan had enough time to think, to get to the conclusion that things were better that way. Of course, for a moment, he thought about going looking for him, finding him, explaining him sometimes, when people are mad, they say things they don’t really mean. It would be a lie, though, because he did mean it. He did. Back then he meant everything he said to Brendon, deep down he did, that’s why he said them, and yes, he could have said them in a better way, but in the end the result would have been the same. They don’t fit together, they never had.

It’s true Ryan thinks different now, somehow. Time has passed and time does wonders when it comes to the way people see things. Ryan has changed the way he sees himself. His mindset went from ‘who I am?’ to ‘who do I think I am?’ in a matter of days. Not because of Brendon, no, it was just… Okay, so maybe it was a little because of Brendon. Not directly but, in some way, things Brendon told him that last day made him think. It was true what he said about sex, about how Ryan had let their sex identity define the rest of themselves, the rest of their relationship. Ryan had never wanted a 24/7 D/s relationship, and still, when Brendon challenged his status as a Dom in bed, Ryan started to question his whole life. After Brendon left and Ryan realized all of this, every day it passed it looked more and more stupid. It sounded childish, his demands, like a kid who doesn’t want to play with a toy until someone takes that toy away. It was exactly the same, Ryan never cared too much about the whole Dom/sub situation, he never cared too much about his role until Brendon came and told him he would never have it. Suddenly Ryan wanted it, he needed it. Now Ryan just wants peace.

He closes his laptop and rubs his eyes, sighing. He needs a rest. At least today he managed to get something done, so that means he might be able to get his work finished before the deadline this time. For now, the only thing Ryan has in mind is how much he needs a shower, so that’s what he does. He goes to the bathroom dragging his feet and takes off his clothes, getting under the hot water and staying there for a few minutes without even moving. He could stay like that forever, just forgetting about the rest of the world.

His hair has gotten longer, he hasn’t gotten a haircut in a long, long time, but Ryan doesn’t bother blow-drying it when he gets out of the shower, he just uses a towel for a few seconds and that’s all, putting on a t-shirt and some shorts, throwing himself on the couch and turning on the TV.

He loves love stories. Ryan tells himself it has nothing to do with the fact that he unconsciously pictures himself in them. The cheesier, the better, too. It’s always the same plot, they get together, they fall in love, they fuck it up, but they fix it. Somehow, usually in a really stupid way, they manage to fix it up again, they manage to be together like they’re supposed to be, no matter how bad they actually are for each other or how much they’ve hurt themselves before. They end up together. Because it’s fiction.

There’s a reason Ryan is a writer, even if he works writing stupid reviews no one cares for. That’s not his dream job, of course, that’s not what he pictured himself doing for a living when he took his first class of creative writing. No. Ryan is a writer because he loves fiction. He loves the way you can manipulate reality in your favor, how it doesn’t matter how weird a character is, no matter how awkward or stupid or quirky they are, they can always have a happy ending. Even if they don’t deserve it.

Ryan knows in real life there are no such things as happy endings. They only ending you have is death and, in the meantime, you can try to be as happy as you can. It’s true, you can try to make things end well, but once they end, that’s it, there’s nothing else to do and your life goes on, so that happiness last as long as you take finding your next task, your next challenge, your next problem. 

Are people happy, anyway? Because, of course, you can feel happiness from time to time, but is it real when people say they are happy? Maybe it is. Maybe they are happy, maybe it’s just Ryan the one who isn’t. Who can’t. Like he was born with that part of his brain missing.

Was he happy with Brendon?

Well, he remembers himself happy, that’s true, but Ryan knows human brains do that kind of things, remembering the good parts, forgetting about the bad things. Ryan hasn’t forgotten all of the bad things, but he sure remembers more clearly the good ones, like they were good more time than they were bad. He knows it’s not like that, though. He knows, even if he can’t remember, because if it was like that it makes no sense that they ended up the way they did. If they were happy together, they’d be together.

They’re not together. They’re not together and Brendon is not missing him and Ryan is not missing Brendon, they’re not thinking about each other, they’re living their lives like it never happened, like they never happened. You can’t do that, just forget it just like that. You can’t forget the time you were happy.

Ryan closes his eyes, fighting back tears. He clenches his jaw and swallows.

I don’t miss you.

I don’t think of you.

I did what I had to do.

I don’t regret it.

 

I wasn’t happy with you.

 

*

 

He’s fallen asleep on the couch, Ryan doesn’t really know when or how, but the TV is still on and some pseudo-famous guy is trying to sell some miracle knives. Ryan opens his eyes and moves his hand, looking for his phone to check the hour. It’s fucking 3:23 in the morning. Ryan groans and lets his head fall back on the armrest. Why the hell did he wake up? It wouldn’t be the first time he’s fallen asleep on the couch just to wake up to his alarm clock ringing in his ears telling him it’s time to get up and try to be productive. Not that he pays too much attention to it, anyway.

He’s about to fall asleep again, not even thinking of moving to go to bed, when something flashes in his mind and he opens his eyes again. He didn’t wake up just because, it was something else. Ryan takes his phone again and now he sees it. Z’s missing call.

He stares at the screen for what feels like hours, his brain still too slow to process the information. Why the hell is Z calling him at three in the morning? Just a call, too, so Ryan assumes it’s not an emergency because otherwise he’d have a million missed calls and texts. He thinks about calling her back, but then again, it’s fucking three in the morning. Half past three, actually, since Ryan is taking his time thinking about what to do.

Ryan decides not to do anything, leaving the phone by his side on the couch. He closes his eyes, but he can’t fall back asleep now. He can’t stop thinking about what could Z want, if something happened. Maybe it’s nothing but maybe it is and she just didn’t call again because it’s really late and Ryan could have been sleeping, like he was.

He groans and sits up on the couch, cursing and taking the phone again, sliding his finger on the screen and calling Z. This better be good.

“Ryan, you up?” Z answers quickly. Ryan can hear music in the background, voices. She’s at a party. Now he’s sure it wasn’t an emergency.

“Yeah, someone woke me up,” Ryan says in a cranky voice. “I swear to God, Z, if you called me just to tell me about one of your hook-ups…”

“Ryan. Listen,” she cuts him, but she doesn’t say anything else. Ryan can hear the noise fading away and he guesses Z’s walking to some quieter place. “Look, I’m… Don’t freak out, okay?”

“What? Why? Why shouldn’t I freak out? You’re making me freak out! What happened?” Ryan feels awake now, totally awake. “Are you okay? Do you need me to come get you?” This is something Ryan always feared, because no matter how strong Z is, no matter how sure she is of who she’s with, there are assholes in every community and some guys are not okay with strong women living their sexuality the way they want.

“Ryan, I’m okay. Sorry,” she sighs, “I shouldn’t have told you that. It’s just… I shouldn’t have called you. Fuck.”

“Z, for Christ’s sake, spit it out!”

“Sorry! Sorry, Jesus…” She sighs again, and takes a deep breath, and Ryan starts to get really impatient. “I was at the party and… Do you remember Patrick? Patrick Stump?”

Ryan does remember Patrick. He does remember Patrick and Patrick’s parties and Patrick’s friends. Ryan is pretty sure he’s not interested in this conversation or where it may go.

“I do, but Z…”

“No, listen.” She cuts him again. “I know him from before, you know that,” she says ‘from before’ like it’s a way to divide time. Before Brendon and After Brendon, “so we talked a bit and I ended up joining him and his friends, his sub was there too. Pete.”

“Z, I don’t care,” Ryan says, maybe a little sharper than he intended to, or maybe not, because he really wants her to stop talking right now.

“Ryan, no. You don’t understand…”

“I do! I do, I…” Ryan laughs and shakes his head, rubbing his face and sighing. “Look, I don’t care. I don’t care if you saw him,” he says, not using Brendon’s name because that’s another thing he can’t do. Not out loud. Not yet, at least. “I don’t care if he was with someone else, I don’t care if he was laughing, I don’t care if he was… happy.” Happy. Can he be happy? Can Brendon be happy? Without him? Ryan swallows. “I just don’t want to know, Z, so please, just save it.”

“Ryan, would you let me speak?” Z says, her tone matching Ryan’s. There’s something else, though. In her voice. There’s something Ryan is not used to hearing in Z’s voice. So he lets her talk. He shuts up and let her talk. “Brendon wasn’t there, Ryan,” she says, making Ryan flinch when he hears the name. “But I asked. You know me, you know I’d ask…”

She stops there. She doesn’t say anything else, and Ryan just can hear the soft sounds of the party in the background. Ryan’s stomach twists. Why has she stopped? What happened? What’s happening?

“So?” He asks, and he doesn’t realize he’s shaking until his voice comes out. “Z, what is it?” He asks again, more demanding now. Z sighs, but she doesn’t answer immediately. Ryan wants to scream at her, make her talk, but he doesn’t need to. 

“He’s in the hospital,” Z says, and Ryan suddenly loses the ability to speak at all. “Brendon. He… Um. He had to go under surgery. A ruptured spleen. He’s okay, though. Like, he’s…  Patrick said he’d probably go home in a couple more days.”

“Okay… Okay,” Ryan nods, trying to assimilate the new. Surgery. A ruptured spleen. It’s not that bad. It’s not a terminal illness, it’s not something incurable. It’s not that bad. It’s… “How did it happened?”

“What?” Z asks, but something tells Ryan she’s heard him well. Ryan frowns, and asks again.

“How did it happen, how did he injure himself?” He asks again, but Z doesn’t answer. Not immediately. “Z, will you tell me how the fuck happened?? You’re…”

“A beating,” she says. Ryan opens his eyes wider. A what? “Someone… Some guys…”

“A beating? He was beaten? A fucking beating sent him to the hospital??” Ryan can feel his heart racing, his body shaking. “Did they do anything else to him?? Z, you need to tell me. Z. Listen. Did they…” Ryan swallows and tries to breathe deep but he can’t. He can’t. “What else did they do? Z, what else did they do??!”

She doesn’t answer and Ryan keeps screaming. He’s screaming. He’s out of his mind, he’s out of this world. He’s disintegrating.

“Ryan!” Z screams too, and makes Ryan stop. He stops but his brain doesn’t. “Ryan… You don’t wanna know.”

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy you guys are liking this so far! You're comments are so nice, they just make me want to write more and more! I hope you enjoy this one as well!

 

 

 

_They were HOT, B. You should have seen them_

Brendon laughs and texts back ‘ _well then you should have taken pictures_ ’, bringing a hand to his stomach when Pete sends him a grimacing emoji with the words ‘ _I forgot_ ’, making him laugh even more. It hurts when he laughs. It hurts when he moves too, it hurts pretty much all the time. On the other hand, he’s going to have a super cool scar when they take the stitches off.

It goes from his navel up to his chest. He’s going to look so badass.

‘ _Stop making me laugh, it hurts,_ ’ Brendon writes back and then he adds, ‘ _and I can’t jerk off here_.’

Pete sends him a lot of laughing emojis and Brendon smiles too. He’s glad his friends had a nice time, especially after Brendon had to make them promise they wouldn’t stop doing things just because he was in the hospital. The last thing he would want is his friends boring themselves to death because they feel sorry for him. Fuck no, Brendon wants them to party harder than ever. Now that he can’t, his friends should have fun for him.

Patrick hasn’t said it but Brendon knows he feels guilty. He was the one Brendon called when it happened, he was the one who brought him to the hospital. He was the one who found Brendon, who saw him. Brendon doesn’t know how bad he looked, but he must have been pretty wrecked because Patrick looked horrified.

Brendon tried to calm him down the best he could, repeating “it’s okay, it’s okay” while Patrick desperately tried to hold him up. Brendon doesn’t remember much, to be honest. He knows he told Patrick he didn’t need to go to the hospital, and he knows he found himself being carried on a stretcher just a few seconds after. Patrick told him he passed out in the car, but Brendon didn’t even remember getting in the car. He knows he was conscious while the medical team put him through a lot of tests, but he doesn’t really remember too much about them.

He remembers the police. He remembers what they asked. Brendon answered everything. When it happened, how it happened, what happened. “Do you want to file a report, sir?” He did. He did want. He didn’t want other things, though. He didn’t want to defend himself, he didn’t want to be put on a stand, he didn’t want to be questioned, what he liked, how he liked it, why he liked it. Did he like it? No. Fuck no, he didn’t want that. So he didn’t file a report, even if the police told him he should. 

“Are my sexual preference going to be questioned if I do it? If this goes to court?”

“We can’t say for sure, sir?”

That was a yes. Brendon knew, the policeman knew, they all knew. So it was a no for him. It wasn’t worth it. There was no way he could win, so it would only make him relive what happened over and over again for nothing.

Brendon wasn’t that bad anyway, apart from the surgery and the broken ribs and the bruises. He wasn’t psychologically bad. He didn’t want to kill himself, he didn’t have nightmares, he didn’t have PTSD. There were people who needed the help much more than him. He was used to it.

He’s used to it. To the pain. To be used.

He’s used to just forget about it and live on. So that’s what he does. That’s what he’s doing. He’s just trying to forget and keep on with his life.

 

*

 

“So when are you coming home?” Patrick asks. He’s sitting in the only armchair in the room. Pete’s sitting on the edge of Brendon’s bed.

“Probably tomorrow. The day after tomorrow I’m home for sure. _My home_ ,” Brendon emphasizes, laughing when Patrick frowns. “I’m not coming home with you, guys. I can take care of myself. Honestly, I’m okay.”

“I’m starting to get tired of your ‘I’m okay’s, you know? It’s obvious you don’t know shit about how you really are,” Patrick replies. “You’re gonna need help, either you want it or not.”

“I know I’ll need help with _some things_ ,” Brendon stresses, “but that doesn’t mean I need to live with you. You can come, like, once a day or something, for a couple hours. I can manage myself for the rest of the day.”

“But you don’t need to, that’s the point,” Pete says, smiling. “We know you can do it, but you don’t need to. You have us, and we want to help you.”

“And I don’t want your help!” Brendon laughs too, but he’s starting to get impatient. Can’t his friends understand that’s the last thing he wants now? To feel like a weak, poor, victim? No, fuck. He wants to go home and joke about sex and live his life. Just that. Nothing else. “Honestly, guys. I love you, and I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I don’t… No. I’m going home and that’s my last word on this.”

Pete sighs and Patrick too, but in a completely different way. Brendon laughs at how exhaling air can mean so many different things. Pete’s sigh means resignation. Patrick’s means frustration.

“Okay, you stubborn son of a bitch,” Patrick finally says and Brendon grins. He loves when he gets things his way, and he also loves when he wins over Patrick. “The offer stands up anyway. We’re gonna visit you every day and you’re gonna tell us what you need. And if something goes wrong, you’re gonna call us. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” Brendon mocks with a smirk. He laughs when he sees Pete shaking his head and Patrick rolling his eyes. “I love you, guys. For real. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Patrick looks like he’s going to say something, but then he shuts his mouth. Brendon sighs and closes his eyes while Pete hugs him carefully and kisses his cheek. He wonders when it’ll stop, his friends treating him like he’s going to break, like he’s made of glass. He wonders if Patrick would ever tell him again he’s a shitty sub and he’d be dead without them, if Pete would hug him rough, joke with him rough, share with him how much he likes it rough.

He hates it. He wants things to go back to normal, to be the way they were before. Before the hospital, before the assault, before he seeking danger, before he wanted pain to help him forget. Before Ryan.

It would be a lie to say his life was normal after Ryan, to say he just moved on like nothing happened. Oh, fuck no, no way. How to pretend nothing happened when something, in fact, happened? Something huge happened. Something catastrophic. 

Brendon had loved people before, he’s had crushes like everyone else, but Jesus fuck, how he fell in love with Ryan. It was ridiculous. It was the kind of love Brendon honestly never thought it existed. Not just the kind of love Brendon didn’t think he would get, but the kind of love Brendon though people pretended to feel to make others envious. It made Brendon think of soulmates and destiny and all that shit fairytales feed you. He really thought it would last forever.

And then it was over.

It was over and it was broken and it was rotten. And Brendon had never felt more pain in his whole life. Bitter pain, dark pain, consuming pain. So Brendon started to look for the other kind of pain, the nice kind of pain, to see if it could mask the bad one.

And when that didn’t work, well… Let’s say it’s not the first time Brendon’s gotten to deal with broken ribs. He just never thought it would get this bad. He never thought he could die. Although, for a minute, while he was in that alley, while he was being kicked and beaten and spit on and called names he couldn’t hear because the pain was deafening, he thought maybe dying wasn’t that bad. Maybe it would be good, to just stop everything. To stop feeling, to stop thinking, to stop living.

What a pussy, right? So scared to live, so afraid to die. But sometimes there’s a limit of knives a person can hold in his back.

“We’re leaving, okay?” Patrick says, petting Brendon’s head while Brendon nods. “If you need anything, call.”

“I’m in a hospital, Patrick. I think people here can provide anything I may need,” he answers, making Patrick wrinkle his nose.

“Yeah? They can drive you home if you’re discharged earlier than you thought?”

“They can call a cab for me,” Brendon smiles. Patrick’s lip twitches.

“I better not find out you went home in a cab.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Who calls a cab anymore? I’d make them call an Uber,” he smiles wider, laughing when Patrick’s frown gets deeper. “I’ll call you. I promise. I’ll call Pete, though. He’s nicer to me.”

“Patrick is nice too. He worries,” Pete says, smiling and kissing Brendon’s cheek. Fucking dog, always defending his owner. Brendon loves him to death. Both of them.

“Okay, okay, leave already. You’re so sweet you’re gonna make me throw up. Let’s not disturb the nurses, okay?”

They both laugh and shake their head, and Patrick says something about that being the nurse's job, and then they leave. Brendon closes his eyes and hears the silence in the room, the constant beep of the machine connected to him, the muttered noise coming from outside too. He sighs and looks around. He wants to be out of here already.

The worse thing about this is being held prisoner in a room, in a bed. Brendon hates being still. He wouldn’t mind the tubes and the machines and the hospital smell at all if he was able to just move, move around, go exploring the fucking place, anything.

He’d kill for a smoke, too.

There’s a knock on the door before it slowly opens up. Nurses and doctors never knock, so Brendon knows it’s the guys all over again. He chuckles and smiles, looking at the door.

“What? You miss me already? Jeez, you really can’t live without—“

It’s not Patrick nor Pete who walks in, and Brendon’s sentence gets stuck in his throat, becoming a lump that he can’t swallow. He wants to speak but he can’t, and for a second he wonders if he’s dreaming, if this is real or he’s hallucinating. If the beating was worse than they thought, because…

That is not Ryan Ross walking to his bed, looking at him like he’s seen a ghost, eyes welling up, fists pressed tight.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Brendon asks, and his voice doesn’t sound like his voice, but he speaks anyway.

“Brendon…” Ryan says, biting his bottom lip. Brendon closes his eyes. Shit. Shit shit shit, it’s real. He’s real. Ryan is real. “Fuck, Brendon, I’m… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

And he only takes one more step, one that gets him closer to the bed, really close, too close, and then he falls down on his knees, fisting Brendon’s bed sheets before he breaks down crying. Brendon wonders if he’s that bad looking. He hasn’t looked in the mirror lately, so he doesn’t know. He knows he has bruises on his face and a split lip, but he’s been cut open too, so his face doesn’t bother him that much. Maybe it should, considering the way Ryan is bawling his eyes out, maybe Brendon should worry.

“Hey…” Brendon calls, not sure if he should touch him or not. He notices Ryan’s hair is longer and wonders if he hasn’t cut it at all since the last time he came to the salon. He thinks about touching it, and then he thinks he better fucking not. “Ryan, stop. You didn’t do this. This is not your fault.”

“I know…” Ryan sobs, wiping his tears away even if he hasn’t stopped crying yet and they just keep falling down his cheeks. He looks pretty like that, crying. His eyes are clearer, honey colored. Almost golden, Brendon thinks. “I know I didn’t, but…”

Yeah, but. Brendon knows what comes after that ‘but’, he’s thought about it too, not for too long, but it has crossed his mind. Their fight. What they said. What Ryan said. What he said. “ _You should have beaten me and raped me in that alley, you know? It would have hurt a lot less_.” God, he was so dramatic. He wasn’t wrong, though. It does hurt less. Now he knows for real, broken ribs and open wound and staples and everything. Nothing compares to how much it hurt to realize his truth was a lie.

Brendon wonders if Ryan knows. He hasn’t told him, but maybe he knows anyway. Maybe that’s why he cries, because Brendon is in a hospital bed, tubes in his arms, cables and machines, the forever reminder of what happened in the shape of a long snake crawling up his belly, and still… Still what Ryan did to him felt so much worse than this.

“It’s not your fault,” Brendon says again, because he can’t say anything else. He can’t lie. “It doesn’t really hurt that much anymore,” he adds, not sure of what he’s really talking about.

“How can I help you?” Ryan asks, and that’s when Brendon just closes his eyes and sighs, moving his face away and cursing under his breath.

“I don’t need your help.” He has enough help with Patrick and Pete, he doesn’t want any more help, thanks. He’s fine.

“But I want to help! Please, there’s has to be something I can do!” Ryan tries to compose himself, blinking and wiping his face again, standing up and looking around, walking to the armchair but not sitting on it. He looks nervous, shaky.

“I have friends, Ryan. They’re all the help I need, okay?” Brendon tries again, but Ryan doesn’t seem to listen.

“I know, I know, but… but I work from home and I can be there when they can’t… and maybe, if you need—“

“I don’t need anything!” Brendon says, louder than he intended to, making Ryan open his eyes wide. “I’m hurt, but I’m not a kid. I’m not disabled and I’m not fragile. I’m not broken, okay?” He says, trying to sound firm even when he chokes the last words. “What happened to me happens to millions of people in the world every fucking day and they keep going on with their lives, and that’s what I want to do, that’s what I’ve always done. So if you came here because you feel bad about the poor little thing that walked away from you to meet the fate he sooner or later would end up facing, fine, here I am. You’ve seen it with your own eyes, you can cry and feel bad for me and pity me all you want, but not here.” He swallows, breathing deep and keeping his head up. “I don’t need your pity,” he spits bitterly. 

Ryan closes his eyes like Brendon just hit him, shaking his head and bringing his hands to his face.

“No. No, fuck, Brendon, it’s not that. It’s not pity,” he says, and then he laughs. “Or it is! You know what? It is, it is pity, but I’m not pitying you. Don’t you understand?” He asks, sighing defeated. “I’m not pitying you, I’m asking you… begging you, to pity me. Please.” He lowers his head, breathing deep. “I need you to… let me do something. I need you to help me stop feeling like the biggest piece of shit on earth.”

“Why?” 

Brendon didn’t mean to ask it out loud. He could blame the drugs, but also he could blame the part of him who’s done with people’s bullshit. And he does feel a knot in his stomach when Ryan looks up at him like he just lost everything he had left, but he doesn’t back up. He keeps looking at Ryan, waiting for the answer.

“Because…” Ryan lets out a sigh, a couple of tears rolling down his cheeks again when he shrugs, shaking his head. “Because you’re a good person, I guess. That’s the only reason I can come off with. I know I don’t deserve it, and I know I shouldn’t even have come here at all. I know I hurt you worse than… anything and I know I can’t fix that, so please. Let me fix anything else. I don’t care what, I just want to do something good for you for a change!” Ryan says. Brendon wants to tell him that’s stupid. He did a lot of good things for Brendon, a lot. That’s why it hurt so bad when it all ended.

“You know? I thought you’d be happy to see me like this, so you could say you were right after all,” Brendon says, watching Ryan contort his face and body like it physically hurts to hear Brendon say what he’s saying.

“I’d kill myself before wishing any harm upon you,” Ryan says. Brendon shakes his head and snorts.

“Don’t be so dramatic. That’s my job,” he says, he jokes, he thinks he jokes. Ryan doesn’t laugh, though. Maybe he was being serious. “I don’t need you to kill yourself, Ryan…”

“Then what do you need? Tell me. Anything. I promise I’ll do it.”

It’s actually cute to see. Brendon wonders if he’s really this detached from his emotions or if this is just his coping mechanism. He doesn’t know what would be worse, finding out he just can’t feel love at all or finding out he’s still so in love with Ryan he’s disassociating to protect himself from being hurt again. The former is lonelier, but the latter is scarier.

“My TV is broken. Can you fix it for me?” Brendon suddenly asks. Ryan is not expecting that question, it shows on his face, but Brendon wasn’t expecting it either, so that makes two of them.

“Um,” Ryan blinks a couple of times, fidgeting with his hands. “I mean, I’m… I’m really bad with… domestic things, but I can get it fixed for you. Or I can buy you a new one.”

“Your salary is shit, you can’t afford to buy me a new TV,” Brendon says, snorting a laugh. “Unless you have a new job I don’t know about.”

“My job is the same and my salary is still pretty shitty,” Ryan says, daring a little smile, “but I’d buy you a cinema screen if I had to.”

“You’re pretty dumb, then. I can’t put a cinema screen in my apartment, and I don’t even watch TV that much,” Brendon says, and Ryan laughs, two more tears rolling down his cheeks again when he shakes his head.

“I don’t care. If you want it, you get it.”

“Are you trying to buy my love, Ryan?” Brendon asks, but he smiles a little too, just to let Ryan know he’s joking.

“No. No, of course not. Not your love.” Ryan closes his eyes, the smile still on his face growing when he adds. “Just your forgiveness.”

“Then you better have your credit card ready,” Brendon says, putting on his best diva face. “I’m an expensive bitch.”

“Anything,” Ryan nods, smiling wider, the light on his face reaching his eyes. “I promise. I’m serious. Anything you want. You just need to ask.”

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

So, Brendon hasn’t called.

Ryan would like to say he’s surprised but the truth is he knew that could happen. It’s his fault, for coming to the hospital like a desperate man and crying and begging without really anything to offer. Brendon was right, he has friends to help him, why would he need Ryan at all? It still hurts, though. Or maybe it’s just the way Ryan has finally allowed his body to feel all the pain he denied this past year. He doesn’t want it, but there it is, his whole self aching for Brendon.

“I deserve it…” Ryan sighs.

“Maybe he’s not home yet?” Z asks, but she knows as well as Ryan that’s impossible.

“If he’s not home yet then that means something really bad happened, so please, don’t even mention that option,” Ryan says.

“If you’re so desperate to see him again, just call. He’s recovering from a fucking surgery, Ryan, for God’s sake, you can’t expect him to think about you and how you feel, no matter how much of a drama queen you were when you went visit him.”

Ryan hates when Z is so straightforward. He also hates when she’s right. Right now he hates her so, so much, but that doesn’t stop him from picking up the phone and making a call. After all, no matter how much he hates Z, he knows doing what she says it’s probably the best option.

He tries to keep calm while the phone rings, and he doesn’t even sound too affected when Brendon finally picks up. Ryan asks him how he’s doing, and he listens to Brendon talking about how he’s bored to death and how he wants to scratch the skin off his face sometimes.

“I need to fucking _move!_ I need some action in my life! And these motherfuckers just need to feed me on a high chair to make me feel like a toddler,” Brendon complains, and Ryan laughs.

“That means you don’t need me, right?” Ryan asks, and Brendon groans. Ryan can even hear him roll his eyes. “I just want to do something! I feel useless here.”

“You feel useless?? How do you think I feel??”

“I know, I know…” Ryan laughs just a little. He knows he shouldn’t be the one asking for favors here. Brendon doesn’t want him to help and he shouldn’t insist on it, he should respect Brendon’s decision. And it’s not even like Ryan is so eager to help Brendon, not really, not if Brendon doesn’t want him to… But this was the perfect excuse to see him again and now that Brendon is shutting down that option, there’s only one thing Ryan has left: the truth. “So… what if I promise I won’t try to help you at all?” He asks after a while, a soft chuckle abandoning his lips with his breath. “I can even try to make things harder for you instead. Can I go visit you then?”

There’s a moment of silence in which Ryan really expect Brendon to tell him no, to say he doesn’t really want him there, not to help, not to do anything. He just doesn’t want to see him.

“You know my address already,” it’s what Brendon says instead, adding: “P square usually come early in the morning to help me shower and change my bandage. You can come whenever you want.”

“P square?” Ryan asks, trying not to show in his voice the rush of happiness he’s feeling at the moment. Brendon laughs, making a sound with his throat.

“You know. Pete and Patrick. They won’t leave me the fuck alone,” Brendon complains, but there’s affection in his voice. Ryan is glad Brendon has such good friends to take care of him.

 

*

 

At first, Ryan thinks maybe he should go visit Brendon in the morning too, just to try not to make it awkward being just the both of them at home, but then he thinks probably Pete and Patrick don’t want to see him. He wouldn’t want to see the face of the guy who hurt his best friend. He’s also kind of a coward, and he knows Patrick wouldn’t hesitate to throw at his face everything he’s done to Brendon. Pete would probably throw him a punch. Ryan is not sure which one he fears the most.

He decides the evening is better, that way he can be a polite guest and bring dinner. He texts Brendon and sets up the date, and Ryan swears he’s never been more anxious in his whole life. It doesn’t matter if he’s seen Brendon already, that time at the hospital doesn’t really count. When Ryan went to the hospital he wasn’t even thinking, he just took the car and drove until he got there. Right now he’s got time to think.

He’s literally shaking when he knocks on the door.

“Hey,” Brendon greets him with half a smile, letting him in. “I thought you were bringing dinner.”

“We’re ordering takeout,” Ryan answers apologetically. “I just wasn’t sure if there were some type of food you couldn’t eat, so I didn’t want to mess up. So we can order whatever you want. It’s on me.” He says, holding out the bottle of wine he did bring. “I have this, though. ‘Cause they didn’t take your liver, right?” He tries to joke. It works, because Brendon laughs even if it’s probably at him.

“They didn’t. Thanks for the wine,” Brendon says, taking the bottle and looking at the label. “It’ll go perfectly with the barbecue pizza we’re gonna order.”

And that’s how Ryan learns Brendon can still eat whatever he wants.

He’d like to say it’s not awkward, being there with Brendon, but it kind of is. It brings back so many memories Ryan sometimes needs to close his eyes, not sure if to make them go away or to see them clearer. Brendon doesn’t seem uncomfortable, though, or he doesn’t show it if he is. He’s the one who starts talking about how he’s been, what he’s been doing this time they’ve been apart. He’s the one who starts talking about it.

“I guess neither of us knew how to handle it,” Brendon says with a sigh. They’re eating on the couch because as much as Brendon likes to pretend he’s fine, sitting on a chair for too long is too uncomfortable. “We were young. I mean, we still are but… You were really my first serious relationship.”

“Yeah, you too,” Ryan nods, drinking from his glass of wine. Alcohol helps. It helps a lot. “You were the first person I thought I’d spend my whole life with,” he says. Maybe alcohol helps too much. Ryan closes his eyes, regretting saying that the moment it spills from his mouth. “I didn’t… Like, I’m not saying it to guilt you into anything. It’s just the truth. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Brendon bats his hand, taking his glass too. “It was the same for me. I really thought you were the one,” he laughs, and Ryan feels a knot in his stomach. “That’s why it hurt so much… It still is to this day the most someone has hurt me in my life.”

The silence that goes after that sentence should be awkward, uncomfortable, but Ryan doesn’t have the time to feel any of that. He’s busy feeling the pain in Brendon’s words, like breaking every one of his bones and tearing apart his body. That’s how Ryan feels.

He just looks at his glass of wine not sure if he’s able to breathe. He can’t look at Brendon now, he can’t move. The only working part of his body is his brain and it’s only flashing him with scenes from that night. Words. Sounds. Feelings. Emotions.

“I…” Ryan starts but he doesn’t know what to say. Is saying sorry worth something? Will it change anything? “I just wish… I could take it back.”

“You can’t,” Brendon says, and his voice is enough for Ryan to shut his eyes closed because he doesn’t want to see Brendon. He doesn’t want to see the face that comes with that voice. “I’ve forgiven you, though.”

That makes Ryan open his eyes as faster as he had closed them.

“What?” And he asks ‘what’ but he also wants to ask how, when, _why??_

“I’ve forgiven you,” Brendon says and he even laughs a little. “The past is in the past. I can’t hold it against you forever,” he shrugs, sighing. “I think it’s enough that I can’t trust you anymore.”

Ryan feels his soul crash on the floor, and the happiness he momentarily felt abandons his body so quickly he feels lightheaded. 

“Y-You can’t…”

“I gave myself to you. I gave me whole. I trusted you with my entire self… and you broke that,” he says with a bitter smile. “That won’t happen again. And it’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I can’t,” Brendon shakes his head, sighing. “I just can’t. I don’t think I can trust anyone anymore… Not to that level.”

Ryan looks at him, trying to assimilate, trying to understand what Brendon is really saying, what that means.

“You’re saying… I ruined you,” he almost whispers, so overwhelmed he feels he would trip and fall if he moved right now.

“Ruined me, improved me, it really depends on how you see it,” Brendon jokes, and it’s painful to hear him talk like that. “I mean, I’ve never gonna get hurt like that again. That’s a plus.”

Ryan really feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Sorry, I need… I…” He tries to stand up, holding himself on the table, but his vision gets blurry and he tries to grab onto anything to stop himself from falling. His eyes open wide when he hears some glass breaking and Brendon saying ‘oh shit!’ Ryan blinks and moves fast. “What is it? What? Oh, fuck.”

He’s so stupid. He doesn’t know how he managed to fuck up this bad and still make it worse and worse. There’s a glass crashed on the floor, wine dripping on it from the couch, part of it soaking Brendon’s shirt.

“Okay, I need…” Brendon unbuttons his shirt fast, using it to press it lightly against the bandage on his stomach. “Ryan. I need to clean the wound and change the bandage. And I need you to help me do it, okay?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. Anything,” Ryan nods frantic, moving but not really knowing where he needs to go.

“Listen. Relax. We’re gonna go upstairs and I’m gonna lie down on my bed, I’m gonna take this bandage off and, in the meantime, you’re going to get in the bathroom and open the medicine cabinet. Everything you need is there, clean bandages, antiseptic soap, rubber gloves. It’s everything together. Patrick uses it every day,” he says, holding Ryan’s hand and looking at him in the eye, smiling. “Hey. It’s okay, this isn’t dangerous or anything. I’m not gonna die,” he laughs. “Now help me go upstairs.”

Ryan tries to push away every voice in his head screaming how useless he is and follows Brendon’s instruction. They go upstairs and Brendon tells him to stay calm, they’re not in a hurry, but Ryan still feels like he’s being too slow, he’s being too inefficient. He leaves Brendon on the bed and goes to the bathroom, finding everything he needs meticulously put together. He mentally thanks Patrick and goes back with everything he needs.

Brendon is lying on the bed when Ryan comes back. It’s the first time Ryan sees the wound. It goes almost up to Brendon’s chest, and luckily it’s almost completely closed now. He’s even missing a few staples, and Ryan remembers reading about the topic how staples sometimes just fall out and that’s okay.

“Cool, huh?” Brendon asks when Ryan sits by his side, getting everything he’s going to use close to him.

“Does it hurt?” Ryan asks back, not wanting to answer Brendon’s question. Brendon smiles, making a face.

“It does, but… not in a bad way,” he jokes, or so Ryan thinks. “Don’t worry, it’s okay. You can start now. And ask me if there’s something…”

“No, I know. I… I’ve seen some videos. I know how to do it,” Ryan nods, starting to prepare the wet towels, putting on his rubber gloves.

“Of course. Everything in control…” Brendon mocks him.

At first, he’s afraid of even touching the skin. It’s different watching some videos than really doing it yourself, but Brendon encourages him with soft words, nice words. Ryan smiles when he feels more confident, putting a little pressure on the skin to clean it better.

Brendon shakes and shivers, frowning and closing his eyes, moaning softly. Ryan watches him carefully, stopping for a second before he keeps going. He presses the towel to the skin again, moving it down and not touching the actual would, just cleaning around.

“Fuck,” Brendon mutters under his breath, biting his bottom lip. Ryan can see how he gets goosebumps all over his skin.

“Are you okay? Did it hurt?” Ryan asks, stopping what he’s doing again.

“Yes,” Brendon answers, he whispers, and Ryan knows this answers, his gut knows it. It’s the kind of answer he’s heard Brendon give him so many times Ryan can’t count them. “Fuck. Sorry,” Brendon says again, and then Ryan knows. He looks down Brendon’s body, watching his torso moving with every breath, his cock slowly tenting his pants as he gets hard.

“It’s okay,” Ryan says, trying to keep his composure, moving the towel on Brendon’s skin again.

“No, it’s not okay.”

“It is. It’s just your body reacting to the feeling, Brendon. It’s okay. I don’t mind,” Ryan explains, trying to convince Brendon and trying to convince himself. He’s not a professional healthcare provider, he’s just a fucking writer, and he’s not used to having guys getting boners in front of him without meaning sex, but he’s also a human being, and he’s not making Brendon feel uncomfortable for a natural reaction of his body. It’d be nice if his own body wouldn’t have a natural reaction too, so he tries to keep his mind away from it.

“Yeah? You don’t mind?” Brendon laughs, breathy. “You don’t mind me getting horny while you take care of me?” He asks, sharp, and Ryan needs to close his eyes and breathe before he answers.

“You’re not getting horny. You getting hard doesn’t mean you’re horny,” Ryan says. He wants Brendon to know he wouldn’t think like that, he wouldn’t assume things, and above everything, he wouldn’t do anything.

“I know that,” Brendon says, even sharper this time, looking at Ryan, like he didn’t like that answer at all. “I know getting hard doesn’t mean I’m horny. Me saying I’m horny means I’m horny,” he adds, making Ryan swallow and pay attention to the wound. “What? You think I can’t get horny anymore because of what happened? It’s happened before, Ryan, it wasn’t new. It’s happened before I met you, you already know that. You just didn’t want to see it because back then it was convenient that I could get horny, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t you dare to say that,” Ryan answers right away, looking at Brendon’s eyes. “It wasn’t like that and you know that.”

“Yeah? Then what makes it different now?” Brendon demands. “Why am I made of glass now? Why am I a poor little thing who can’t decide if he’s getting hard because he wants to _fuck?_ You all act like I can’t want it anymore, what the fuck?” Brendon shakes his head, like he can believe his own words. “What’s the difference, then? Between you and them? You all want to own my sexuality now, either telling me what I want or what I don’t want. My sex life is mine, and you don’t get to fucking decide if I don’t want to—“

Brendon gasps when Ryan’s hand moves down fast, wrapping around his cock, over the fabric. He looks at Ryan with wide eyes, blown out pupils. He swallows and pants, and Ryan feels a rush in his veins he hadn’t feel for a long time.

“Is this what you want?” He asks, trying to mask the fear in his voice, the little part of his brain who can’t stop screaming at him, telling him to stop, telling him he’s fucking up again.

“Yes,” Brendon answers, his eyes never leaving Ryan’s. “But not just like that. I want…”

“You want it to hurt,” Ryan finishes, moving his free hand to hold Brendon’s hip, digging his thumb hard on the flesh, close to the wound.

“ _Yes_. Fuck, yes, please, just…”

Brendon doesn’t say anything else, not with words at least. His whole body speaks, though, when Ryan pushes his hand under the fabric, feeling the hot skin under the palm of his hand. Brendon’s heart is right there, pulsing, throbbing, and Ryan wraps his hand around it tighter, wanting to keep it there, to not let it escape. 

It’s like a dream, watching Brendon come undone, his body twisting again under Ryan’s hands, his skin shining, his mouth panting. Ryan strokes firmly, setting up the pace he remembers works better on Brendon, and uses his other hand to just press in the right places. He doesn’t need to use any force now, Brendon has an stapled wound after all. 

“Is that all you’ve got?” Brendon teases with a smirk, and Ryan laughs too because he can’t believe his eyes. 

“You ain’t seen shit yet,” Ryan says, moving his hand up and grabbing a fistful of Brendon’s hair, pulling roughly and getting up the bed, on top of Brendon, leaning down to kiss him.

It explodes in his mind, Brendon’s taste, his tongue, his lips, his spit. Ryan kisses him hungry, biting him and scratching his scalp as he does, making Brendon moan loudly into his mouth and pushing his tongue deeper until he has to shut up. He wants to rub himself against Brendon, but he knows he can’t. A suture is a suture after all, and he doesn’t want to send Brendon back to the hospital.

That only thought makes his skin crawl and he breaks the kiss right away, looking at Brendon, panting. Is he done too much? Is this okay? Brendon seems pleased but what if…

“You know your word,” Ryan says, and he’s not asking but he is at the same time. Brendon snorts a laugh and licks his lips, thrusting against Ryan’s hand.

“I know my word. Do you?” He asks, bitter. Ryan closes his eyes and goes back to Brendon’s mouth, biting it harder, doing the same with the skin of his neck when he slides down.

“Like I can forget.”

He bites down again and doesn’t stop until he tastes blood, hearing Brendon moaning and crying and saying ‘yes, fuck, fuck, yes’. His hand around Brendon’s cock starts to get slick, sliding faster up and down, so wet it’s making his mouth water. He can smell it, so familiar even after almost a year of being deprived of it, Brendon’s scent. He wants it. Like a predator smelling his prey’s blood. Once Ryan has smelled Brendon, he wants him whole, he wants it all.

“Tell me when you’re gonna come,” Ryan warns.

“I’m gonna come,” Brendon says, and Ryan kisses him rough one last time before he moves down fast, yanking down Brendon’s pants and getting his mouth around Brendon’s cock. “Fuck, Ryan, _fuck!_ ”

This time Ryan uses his nails, dragging them down Brendon’s thighs when he opens his legs, making room so he can suck that cock properly. Brendon curses and screams and brings his hands to Ryan’s hair to push and pull and tangle his fingers in it. Ryan just keeps blowing him, swirling his tongue, sucking, spitting, and doing it all over again until he feels Brendon coming. He feels it, and then he tastes it, hot and thick in his mouth.

Brendon is still panting when Ryan moves up again, holding his head and pressing his fingers into Brendon’s cheeks, forcing his mouth open before he spits Brendon’s come inside.

“Swallow,” he orders, and Brendon does with a wicked smile, licking his lips when he’s done and showing his clean tongue to Ryan. “Good boy,” he smiles, leaning down and kissing Brendon one last time, slower now, almost tender. He lets himself fall on the bed by Brendon’s side. The inside of his underwear feels sticky, but Ryan can’t complain. It’s been a long, long time since the last time he creamed his pants.

“Thank you,” Brendon says after a while, still trying to breathe properly, turning his head to the side and looking at Ryan. “That… meant a lot. Also, it was fucking hot,” he laughs, making Ryan laugh too. “But, you know… I just. It helped. It helped me feel normal again.”

“Anytime,” Ryan says, looking at him, studying every detail of his face. “You’re normal, you know? You are,” he says, and he keeps talking when he sees Brendon’s is about to interrupt. “And I don’t care what I said… back then. I don’t care. That was past me. Past me was stupid and childish and afraid. Present me is not like that. And present me is here to help you any way he can.”

Brendon looks at him in silence, hearing him, probably interiorizing the words, or maybe just thinking it’s all bullshit. Ryan wouldn’t blame him.

“Can present you help me not talking about himself in the third person?” Brendon asks then, and Ryan burst out laughing, shaking his head and bringing a hand to his face.

“He can. I mean, I can.”

“Thanks,” Brendon laughs too, looking at Ryan and biting his bottom lip. His mouth looks sore, shiny red and puffy, good to eat. “Can present you do something else for me?” Brendon asks, softer.

“Anything,” Ryan nods, and Brendon smiles this time, pouting a little.

“Can present you kiss me?”

Ryan gets his breath caught in his throat and it’s a miracle he doesn’t choke. He licks his lips and nods, moving forward and catching Brendon’s pretty lips between his own, licking between them with the tip of his tongue, kissing him as sweet as he knows, sighing when Brendon sighs too.

“Thank you,” Brendon whispers with a smile, looking at Ryan’s eyes.

“My pleasure,” Ryan answers, and he smiles back.

Well.

Well, fuck.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's on, guys


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late! School is making me crazy and I can't find enough time to write, but luckily (or not) there's just one chapter left! So I hope the wait was worth it and you all enjoy this one :)

 

 

The dining room is silent, the only thing Brendon can hear is the clicking of forks against plates. He knows what that means, but he won’t be the first one to bring it up. Patrick has been looking at him weird since he came home and found Ryan already leaving. Pete hasn’t said anything either, but by the way he looks, Brendon knows he won’t speak until Patrick does.

It’s just a matter of time, but Brendon keeps eating like nothing happens.

“Are you guys fucking again?” Patrick suddenly asks. Brendon chokes on his orange juice. And yeah, he’s drinking orange juice with his meal because Vitamin C is good for him. Or so he hopes.

“Okay, before you judge me, I need you to know I have a really good reason to explain it,” Brendon says, looking at both Patrick and Pete. Patrick looks expectant. Pete looks amused. Brendon takes a breath and lets it out. “He’s pretty fucking good in bed.”

“I’ll kill you,” Patrick drops his fork on his plate and gets up. Pete needs to hold him back, but Brendon is already looking around to see his possible escape exits.

So, yeah, he and Ryan, they… They have something going on. Something called mind-blowing sex, that’s it. And honestly, Brendon knows it’s probably not a good idea but, at the same time, Ryan is the only one who treats him exactly the way Brendon wants to be treated and also… Shit, he’s still not over him. He was never over him. And maybe he’s kidding himself thinking Ryan has really changed (although he kind of has proof Ryan has actually changed) because he also thought Ryan was good enough before and he ended up hurting him anyway, but… He just can’t. Brendon can’t let this pass, he can’t lose this opportunity just because of his stupid ego. He could have died, and fuck, does that gives people some perspective. He’s done doing things because it’s what he’s supposed to do. If he wants to be with Ryan, he’d be with Ryan, and if he ends up getting hurt again (the bad way), he’d kick Ryan’s ass and forget about him. Life is short and Brendon intends to have as much fun as he can while he’s still alive.

“Are you out of your mind, Brendon?? Did you forget who was the one who got you so fucked up you didn’t know what to do with your life?”

Brendon chuckles because that’s a funny euphemism. He did know what to do with his life, he wanted to ruin it, he engaged in the most self-destructive behavior ever, so it’s funny that Patrick says it that way.

“He didn’t push me to do it! Right? It was me, and now I think a lot different, I promise you. Like, I can tell you, seeing the light at the end of the tunnel makes you change the way you think about life,” he jokes, but Patrick doesn’t seem to find it funny.

“Jesus, Brendon, sometimes it’s like you like to…” Patrick presses his lips together to stop talking, and that makes Brendon frown.

“What? _What?_ Just say it!”

“It’s like you like to put yourself in danger!” Patrick finally says, his voice harsher this time.

“Is that what you were gonna say? Are you sure? Were you gonna say those words?” Brendon asks, stepping up, “Because, you know what? That’s a thing I hate about you guys, the way you treat me like I’m gonna fucking break. At least that’s something I don’t need to worry about with Ryan. He treats me like I’m normal, not some kind of fragile doll.”

“We don’t do that, B,” Pete frowns, and he seems hurt by Brendon’s words, but it’s now or never for Brendon to speak his mind.

“You do,” Brendon replies with a sigh. “And I know you guys mean well but you treating me like a child who doesn’t know better only makes me feel like… Like I can’t be trusted with myself. Like this was somehow my fault for being irresponsible and I know I was being irresponsible but—“

“Shut up.” Patrick raises his voice and both Brendon and Pete look at him startled. “You are irresponsible. You’ve always been. But never, ever, think we blame you for what happened, you could be the most irresponsible human being in this world and still it wouldn’t be your fault,” Patrick says, frowning. “And if you felt we think that way… I’m sorry,” he says and Brendon opens his eyes wide. He wasn’t expecting an apology. “I never meant for you to feel that way. So I’m sorry, Brendon. I’ll try to… change that for now on.”

Maybe it’s because Brendon has never seen Patrick apologize before or even being wrong at all, but he feels his chest tightening and the emotion bubbles in his chest. He moves to Patrick right away, maybe too roughly, throwing himself into his arms and hugging him. Patrick hugs him back, though, and Brendon smiles, looking back at Pete and opening one of his arms for him to come join too. He’s really glad of his friends.

 

*

 

“So I think they’re finally getting it, that it doesn’t matter what happened, I still have some needs I don’t want to neglect,” Brendon says and Ryan makes an understanding noise. “It’s not like I want to pretend it didn’t happen, because it did, I know. It’s actually the other way around. I want to prove myself that I can go on with my life regardless of what happened.”

“I’m proud of you, Brendon,” Ryan smiles, kissing the top of Brendon’s knee. Brendon laughs and lets his head fall on the pillow.

The wound is already closed, but since it’s too recent, Brendon can’t hold a stressful position for too long. That’s why Brendon needs to be lying down every time they play. Ryan finishes frog-tying Brendon’s left leg and tugs at the rope to tie it to the bed, keeping his legs spread.

“What are you gonna use today?” Brendon asks, lifting his head just a bit to look at Ryan. Ryan smiles, moving and reaching for something.

“This,” Ryan smiles wickedly, showing in his hand a shiny knife. Brendon knows it’s not sharp, he _knows_ it can’t be sharp. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel his guts twisting thinking ‘what if…’

“Such a cute toy you’ve got there,” Brendon chuckles, trying to control how his breathing gets a little faster when Ryan lowers the knife and touch the inside of his butt cheeks with the blade.

“I could cut you open right now,” Ryan whispers, scraping the knife up to Brendon’s balls, making his cock jump, starting to get interested.

“Too late. Someone already did,” Brendon replies, but he closes his eyes and hisses when Ryan moves over him, sliding the knife up to his belly.

“I bet I can do it better.” Ryan smiles, leaving a little kiss on Brendon’s cheek. Brendon looks at him with a disbelieving face, arching to push against the knife.

“Prove it, big boy,” he dares, and Ryan kisses him so hard his lips hurt. And then he bites. Harder.

Brendon curls his toes and fists his hands, cuffed at the headboard of the bed, moaning in pain, panting when Ryan starts lowering down, biting his neck, holding his head in place with a hand while he scratches Brendon’s skin with the knife. He starts slow, but it seems like Brendon’s sounds are encouraging him to do it harder, faster, like the more Brendon fidgets and tries to escape, the hungrier Ryan gets. 

It’s all over him, Ryan’s tongue and teeth and lips, marking him and making him squirm, the knife leaving red trails on his skin, on the inside of his thighs. It’s addictive, the feeling of being on the edge, the little part of his brain that enjoys thinking Ryan could press the knife deeper in any moment, that no matter how blunt the blade is, it could still stab him with the right amount of pressure.

It’s such an indescribable feeling, when all rational thought is gone, when his body stops belonging to him and just obeys Ryan. He gets goosebumps, his nipples hard, his cock aching, and he digs his nails into his own hands when Ryan runs his mouth down, grazing the scar on his belly, biting under his navel. It makes him shiver.

“Harder. Fuck,” Brendon swallows. “Make me bleed,” he moans, and it sends shivers down his spine just thinking about it.

“Wouldn’t you love if I followed your orders,” Ryan laughs, moving up and looking at him, putting the knife under Brendon’s chin to make him look up. “You’re so cute,” he laughs, holding down Brendon’s by his neck and moving the knife back down, between his legs. Ryan moves to whisper in his ear, smiling when Brendon feels the cold metal pushing between his ass cheeks. “I could really make you bleed, you know? Make you regret asking for it.” Ryan licks his lips, squeezing Brendon’s neck, and he flashes a wolfish grin when he pushes the knife inside Brendon’s body.

“Don’t!” Brendon gasps, his whole body reacting, his muscles tensing, his stomach twisting, and his cock twitching. It’s the handle. It’s just the fucking metal handle what Ryan pushed inside him but, for a second, Brendon really thought it was the blade. Ryan looks at him with an amused smile, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh. Not so brave anymore, huh?” He asks, pushing the knife deeper. Brendon laughs and shakes his head, closing his eyes.

“No. It wasn’t that,” he pants, arching so he can feel it better. “I almost fucking come,” he laughs again, looking at Ryan. “And you wouldn’t have liked that, would you?”

“You’re so fucking…” Ryan shakes his head and, when he kisses Brendon again, it feels like an attack. He drops the knife and suddenly his hands are all over Brendon, touching, scratching, holding him tight right before he moves and flips Brendon over, making Brendon’s arms twist to accept the new position, his knees digging into the mattress, his cheek pressing against the pillow. 

“Fuck. Ryan…”

“No. You’re making me crazy,” Ryan interrupts with a groan, spanking Brendon’s ass with his full hand, making Brendon laugh and moan at the same time. “Is it funny to you? Is this funny?” He asks, spanking Brendon harder. 

“ _Yes,_ ” Brendon answers, or maybe he wasn’t answering but it’s the truth anyway. He pushes his ass back, looking for something else apart from Ryan’s hands. He wants his cock and he wants it now. What he gets instead is Ryan’s fingers, three of them, all shoved inside him without mercy. Brendon moans and pants and curses _fuckfuckfuck_.

“Not laughing anymore?” Ryan asks, thrusting his fingers deeper inside.

“You’re such a…” Brendon squirms, but he also pushes back, looking for more. It hurts but, fuck, he’s so turned on he can feel his rock hard cock defying gravity hitting his own belly with every jerk. “Fuck me,” he asks, clenching his jaw and opening his legs wider, rubbing his face against the pillow, feeling it damp with his own sweat. “Ryan, come on. You’re killing me. I want to… I need to come. I need you to fuck me. Hard.”

He’s not expecting Ryan to obey, he actually _knows_ the more he asks Ryan for something the less probable it is he’ll get it, but he can’t seem able to control his mouth and he just wants. He wants it. Fuck, he needs it so bad just thinking about having Ryan’s cock inside him makes him shiver.

Ryan’s fingers slide out, though, and Brendon opens his eyes when he hears Ryan unbuckling his belt, lowering down his zipper. He swallows and bites his tongue when he feels the heat of flesh against flesh, the shiny tip of Ryan’s cock touching his hole so gently. He groans and bites his lips when Ryan pushes, so slow it feels like torture, but a torture Brendon is happy to receive. He can’t let his mouth ruin this.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” Ryan whispers, leaning down and pushing his nose into Brendon’s damp hair, biting the shell of his ear as he pushes his way into Brendon’s body, opening him up. “I’m gonna fuck you slow, and then I’m gonna fuck you hard. I’m gonna give you everything you want…” Brendon moans loud when Ryan holds his hips and thrusts, making him arch his back. He must be dripping all over the sheets right now. He knows. He can feel it. But then Ryan wraps his hand around the base of Brendon’s cock and squeezes. “But you’re not gonna come.”

He can’t even complain before Ryan begins to fuck him raw, holding him down and pushing every one of the right buttons in Brendon’s body, making him twist in pleasure and pain. It feels so good, so fucking perfect, but he can’t bear the pressure, he’s not ready for an edging play right now, he wants to come, he needs to come. And he knows it’d feel so much better if he managed to let Ryan control his orgasm, but he doesn’t care, he wants it now.

“Fuck. No. No, Ryan, please,” he begs. He doesn’t even care he’s begging, he can’t stand the thought of having Ryan’s hand around his cock denying him his release instead of providing it. He thinks of saying it. For the first time ever, at least during sex, he thinks of saying his safeword and stop the scene, but he doesn’t really want to stop, and he doesn’t want to ruin this for Ryan either. He just… He needs… “Ryan. Ryan… Mercy,” he calls, and that makes Ryan make eye contact with him immediately. He doesn’t stop moving, he doesn’t stop what he’s doing, but Brendon now knows he has Ryan’s full attention. “I don’t want to use the color, but I really… can’t. I need you to make me come. I need you to… care about… my pleasure too.”

He sees it in Ryan’s eyes before he understands it himself, what he’s asking for, why he’s asking for it, why he’s feeling this tight knot in his chest and his throat. Maybe he was too fast concluding he didn’t suffer any psychological damage, no PTSD. Right now, hearing himself beg for Ryan to care about him too, about his own pleasure, even if he knows Ryan is doing it, even if he knows Ryan is not just using him… it makes him think otherwise.

Maybe if someone who didn’t know them were looking, they wouldn’t find any change in Ryan’s behavior. He doesn’t stop what he’s doing, he doesn’t change the pace or starts being gentle, and Brendon was afraid that could happen. That’s the last thing he would have wanted, and he knows it’s difficult to explain why he wants some things and he doesn’t want others, that’s why he’s so grateful Ryan just gets it.

He does something different, though. First of all he takes his hand off Brendon’s cock. And second, he flips Brendon’s body back, pushing a pillow under Brendon’s ass to get him up. He wraps his hand around Brendon’s throat and kisses him. In that moment, feeling invaded, Ryan fucking into him with his cock and his tongue, Brendon feels glorious.

“You’re gonna scream my name when you come,” Ryan whispers, biting Brendon’s bottom lip, looking him dead in the eye, squeezing his neck tighter. “Because it’s me doing this. It’s me making you crazy. I’m the only one who can break you and put you together again, you hear me?” He groans, moving faster, and Brendon just nods because his vision is starting to get blurry, his head up in the clouds. “And you love it, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t even know how he can speak. “Fuck, I do.”

“Of course you do,” Ryan lowers his free hand, wrapping it around Brendon’s cock again, this time all over it, starting to jerk him off, boosting up all of his sensations. “You love it. You love me.”

“Yes. _Yesyesyes_ fuck Ryan. _Ryan_ ,” he screams. He does scream, and he’s coming, dripping down Ryan’s hand and over his own stomach. He kisses Ryan right there, while his body is still jerking. He looks for Ryan’s mouth and just takes it between his lips, kissing him deep and breathing him in. “I love you so fucking much.” He whispers.

And then it’s all black.

 

*

 

Brendon would like if he said he didn’t remember the last time he passed out during sex. It was with Ryan. It’s easy to remember because he’s never passed out with anyone else apart from Ryan. It’s not usual, though, so he’s still pretty lightheaded when he wakes up a minute after. He finds himself untied and Ryan finishing cleaning him up. There’s a big glass of water on the bedside table and also a bunch of candy, so maybe he wasn’t out for just a minute, after all.

“Hey,” Ryan smiles when he looks up. “Can you move just a second? I’m gonna put this towel down under you so you don’t lie on top of a wet spot. Also, drink,” he says, holding the glass out for Brendon. Brendon moves to take it and drink, watching Ryan spreading one of his towels on the bed. “That’s it, you can lie down now. I didn’t find any chocolate, and I didn’t want to snoop around a lot, so I brought you some candy you had on your kitchen counter,” Ryan says, lying by Brendon’s side and getting them both under the covers. “Come here, it’s cold,” he reaches for Brendon, getting him closer and snuggling a bit. Brendon just looks at him, all the time, and Ryan actually blushes a little before he asks: “what is it? Did I say something?”

“I… didn’t remember how this was,” Brendon says. He wasn’t meaning to, but then again, he never was good at controlling his own mouth. He blinks and licks his lips, sighing when he sees Ryan’s expression. “I mean… Well, I did remember, but… I really convinced myself it wasn’t that good. The aftercare. I… I didn’t want to remember how good you made me feel afterward. How you make me feel everything we did was… good.”

He probably shouldn’t have said that. If he wants everybody to treat him like he’s okay he should act like he’s okay and not talk about how miserable this year without Ryan was and how he didn’t manage to find anyone to treat him the way Ryan did. It’s not fair for him, but it’s also not fair for Ryan. Brendon doesn’t think soulmates exist and he’s sure if he could find someone like Ryan that means there are more people out there like him too, but saying things like what he just said put Ryan in a difficult position. It makes it look like he’s the only one who could treat Brendon the way he deserves.

Ryan is about to say something, but Brendon can’t let him. No without making clear what he really thinks.

“I’m sorry I said that,” Brendon interrupts when Ryan opens his lips to speak too. “I didn’t mean… I don’t want you to feel responsible for me, okay? For what I had or I didn’t have where you weren’t with me. I know you’re not the only one who can treat me right. I just… didn’t even look for people who could do that. I wanted to get hurt and I got hurt. Everything that happened, I had it coming.”

He realizes what he’s said the moment the words are out. I had it coming. Does he really think that? Does he, deep down, blame himself for what happened? Brendon swallows and looks at Ryan, who looks back at him with a horrified expression. 

“Please, don’t say that. Don’t ever… Brendon.” Ryan moves closer, touches Brendon’s cheek, makes him look at him even if Brendon is already looking. “Nothing. Nothing you did could ever justify what they did to you, okay? You know that. You know, right?” Ryan asks, and Brendon nods but there’s still this weird feeling inside his chest. “Those pieces of shit chose you because you happened to be there, nothing else. They would have done that to anyone, Brendon. It’s on them, not on you.”

Brendon blinks and lowers his eyes, thinking. He had never seen it that way. He knew it wasn’t his fault because that’s what everybody told him and he chose to believe it, but he still felt responsible for his own choices. He believed it was him who put himself in danger, but he never thought about the other guys, the ones who did it. He never thought about what would have they done if he wasn’t there at that moment. Brendon didn’t turn them into monsters, they were monsters already and Brendon just happened to bump into them, but what if Brendon hadn’t met them?

“They would have done that to anyone,” Brendon repeats, and Ryan nods and says: “yes, exactly, exactly,” so Brendon keeps looking at him, his thoughts getting in order. “They could be doing that to anyone right now.”

Ryan bites his lip and pushes a lock of hair behind Brendon’s ear. He doesn’t answer but Brendon knows what he’s thinking. He wonders if Ryan knows what he is thinking too. If he knows Brendon can’t stop thinking about how those guys are still running free, how he did nothing to help the police catch him because he was too busy being selfish.

“You know Z is a lawyer?” Ryan suddenly asks, like he was able to read Brendon’s mind. “If you ever want to… I know she’d do it. And she’s fucking good, I promise. She’s the best.”

Brendon thinks about it again and takes a deep breath.

“I do,” he says, nodding a couple of times and swallowing. “I want to.”

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm here!!! You can't believe it, right? Neither do I, but here I am anyway. I know you probably though this was abandoned but! I can neglect my kids but never abandon them (don't worry, I don't have real kids, I'm not a terrible parent). Now for real, sorry about not updating sooner, when life gets in the way it's really hard to find the time to do what really pleases us. I just hope this chapter makes it worth the while and you enjoy it at least as much as you've enjoyed the previous ones.

 

 

 

Ryan must be honest, he never thought this whole process would be so tiring. Hard, yes, he knew it would be hard, he knew it would be painful too, but he never imagined every day he would end up coming home and falling into bed and wishing he could sleep for a hundred years. It never felt like he slept more than a few minutes, though, no matter how many hours really went through. It was better when Brendon stayed, that’s true, but that didn’t happen as often as Ryan would have wanted.

He’s not okay. Brendon, he’s not okay, no matter how hard he pretends the opposite. Ryan knows, he can see it, Z too. Sometimes he wants to ignore it, because he knows Brendon needs him to believe in him, but also other times Ryan wants to hug Brendon and tell him it’s okay if he wants to break down and fall, just for a few minutes. Ryan’s arms are there, he would catch him.

He doesn’t say it, not with words at least, but whenever Brendon is too tired to go home and falls asleep on Ryan’s couch, he carries him to bed and hugs him until dawn. Ryan hopes it helps. It helps him a lot.

The process is not easy, not is nice to get into details. First of all, Brendon didn’t immediately filed a report, so the defense got that in their favor. Brendon didn’t even knew the names of the guys, so it was hard to identify them at first. Thank God Z is a hell of a lawyer, and she also knows the club like she was born in it. A few questions here and there, and she found out names, addresses, and even professions. It was amazing what she could do with the blurred pictures of a few security cameras.

So the guys are identified, the medical report is there too, also is Brendon’s scar, reminding them what they did was bad enough to leave a physical mark. Z says they can’t lose, but she also says she’s not sure how much they can win. Ryan doesn’t know what she means until the day comes and the defense attorney starts questioning Brendon.

It hurts watching Brendon being questioned like that, so Ryan can only imagine how much Brendon must be hurting himself. This was exactly the reason why he didn’t want to do any of this. It shouldn’t matter what he likes or how he likes it or if he said ‘red’ enough times. Of course, he didn’t say ‘red’ enough times, he didn’t say ‘red’ at all because they never agreed on a safe word, because there was nothing safe about what happened there. That’s not how BDSM works and that’s what Brendon tells them. Ryan is not sure the jury understands.

“This was a consensual act that got out of hand,” the defense attorney says, but how can a consensual act end up with someone beaten up and left alone to die? “These men have a brilliant future ahead of them we can’t cut short because of a foolish mistake.” But what about Brendon’s life? Is his prospect future not brilliant enough? Does a person need a college degree to deserve justice? Would the defense make the same stance if Brendon was an educated straight dominant man? Would they say the same if the attackers _weren’t_ educated white dominant men?

So they decide it’s not rape. Ryan is outraged but what makes him angry the most is Brendon doesn’t seem surprised. Of course, it’s not a hate crime either, because all of them were the same sexual orientation. The only thing Brendon can prove is the assault and the scar that will forever stay with him.

The final sentence is ridiculous. They get six months in prison, each one of them will pay a compensation of 5000 dollars to Brendon, and they will pay for his medical bills too. Z says they should appeal the decision. Brendon says he just wants to go home.

“But that won’t even cover the months you had to stop working! You almost lose your job, Brendon. It’s not fair!” Ryan tries to convince him, but Brendon doesn’t seem to even listen.

“Home, please. It’s over. That’s all I wanted,” Brendon shakes his head.

“But…” Ryan stops talking when Brendon just walks past him. It’s okay. This is not his fight, no matter how much he wants to fight it. This is Brendon’s decision and Ryan must respect it. Brendon deserves peace too.

“They won’t ever come near you,” Z says, holding Brendon’s hand and looking at him in the eye. “You know that, right? Now everybody knows who they are, the community knows. They won’t be able to set a foot at the club, or at any party. They’ll have to leave the state if they want to fuck again.”

“Or just rape someone again,” Brendon answers. It makes Ryan’s blood freeze and even Z looks lost for words. Brendon closes his eyes and sighs. “Sorry. I just… Thanks, Z. I know you did your best.”

Ryan just stays silent and follows Brendon once he walks away. Pete and Patrick are there waiting outside, and they both look dispirited. They hug Brendon and Brendon hugs them back, but he doesn’t say anything when his friends show their disagreement with what happened in court. They soon learn it’s better to stay silent about it, at least for now.

For a second Ryan thought about not offering Brendon a ride home and just let him go with Pete and Patrick, but something tells him Brendon will be better staying with him. Maybe he’s giving himself too much credit or maybe he just wants it to be that way, but when he actually offers Brendon chooses to go with him.

Five minutes after getting in the car he doesn’t look so happy with his decision, though.

“You can speak, you know? Is everybody mute all of the sudden? Jesus…” Brendon burst out, making Ryan jump in his seat and look at him for a second, his eyes going back to the road. He doesn’t really know what to say.

“I just… I’m so sorry about what happened, that shouldn’t…”

“Jesus Christ! Isn’t there anything else in the world? Just the stupid trial and the motherfucking sentence and boohoo, poor Brendon got fucked again, this time by the system? Get over it. It’s done,” Brendon spits, and it actually hurts Ryan hearing him talk that way, but at the same time he doesn’t know if he should confront Brendon and tell him to stop acting that way.

“I thought about dying my hair,” Ryan says instead. It takes Brendon by surprise and, honestly, it takes Ryan by surprise too. He doesn’t even know if it’s actually true, but Brendon is looking at him with wide eyes and a slightly amused face, so it seems like, if it wasn’t true before, it is now.

“You what? Why? How?” Brendon asks, and Ryan likes the way his tone has changed, not defensive and hurt anymore, but curious, almost cheerful, a lot more like Brendon.

“Dunno…” Ryan shrugs. “Maybe silver?”

“Ugh. That’s so last decade,” Brendon makes a face, but there’s a smile hiding there too. Ryan laughs.

“I don’t know, then how? You do it, I’ll let you choose. And I’ll pay you, of course.”

“The fuck you’re going to pay. I probably owe Z more than I’ll ever earn in my life. You too, always driving me everywhere. I’ll do you guys your hair for free for life.”

“You’re so not a businessman,” Ryan laughs.

“Oh, but don’t think it’ll be all advantages. I’m gonna dye your hair purple, then I’ll change my safe word to ‘hair’,” Brendon laughs, making Ryan laugh even more.

It really helps, talking about stupid things like hair dye and forgetting about what happened just minutes before. Or maybe not forgetting, but leaving it behind, where it actually belongs. They’re still laughing when they cross Ryan’s front door, and Ryan feels confident enough to ask Brendon to stay the night.

“Just if you promise dinner and show,” Brendon answers, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Oh, damn. I better get ready my magic kit, then.”

“Will you cut me in half? I want another scar to match,” Brendon jokes, and Ryan tries to hide the cold shiver that runs down his spine.

“Do you want me to rip you open that bad?” He asks, trying to go where Brendon wants him to, and not where his brain is drifting.

“Well, yeah. You always offer, yet you never do…”

“We’ll have to change that, then.”

 

*

 

Ryan was always proud of his creativity when it came to elaborate a scene. He had a twisted, sick mind and loved watching his fantasies coming true. However, right there, making dinner, eating it, talking with Brendon, putting on some music, getting everything ready… his mind doesn’t seem to work.

He doesn’t know what to do, he feels like he won’t be able to meet Brendon’s standards, like he won’t give him what he really needs. And, shit, Ryan really needs Brendon to enjoy this, to be one of the best if not the best fuck he’s ever had. He wants Brendon to forget about everything else and just feel like everything is right, like it all makes sense again. And maybe Ryan needs that too himself.

“Are you gonna cut me for real?” Is the first thing Brendon asks when they get to the bedroom, and honestly, is not what Ryan had in mind for an unforgettable night, but it seems like Brendon really wants it.

“I’m gonna do whatever I want,” Ryan just says, not really looking at him, pulling up some rope from his bottom drawer.

“Cut that dom bullshit, I want to know. I don’t know why you’re so scared about cutting me. You’ve used needles before, you’ve drawn blood. It’s not that different,” Brendon complains, rolling his eyes and moving so Ryan can sit behind his back.

“Put your inner wrists together,” Ryan says and, when Brendon does, he starts tying them together, putting the rope up around Brendon’s arms and making a fancy knot. “It’s different. I’m not scared of it. It’s just different,” he says, pulling at the rope to test the tightness, then looking at Brendon.

It always happens. Those moments when they’re not Ryan and Brendon but they’re not sub and sir either. Those ‘in between’ moments when they’re still them but there’s a negotiation going on at the same time. A negotiation about not being them anymore. With other people, when Ryan does it with other people, when Ryan used to do it with other people, the negotiation was almost always a verbal contract, and very few times there was even a physical one. With Brendon, though, it’s always a matter of looks. It’s just their eyes the ones who do all the talking.

So Ryan doesn’t ask “are these too tight?” or “are you okay with this position?” He just tugs at the rope and pushes Brendon down, and he just needs to look at Brendon’s eyes to know the answer.

“My back is not enjoying this position,” Brendon jokes, his whole upper body weight resting on his hands, holding his also tied ankles. He is on his knees, chest and belly fully stretched out, his back drawing a pretty arch.

“I am, though,” Ryan smiles, and he touches Brendon’s chest, sliding his hand all the way down Brendon’s belly button.

“So, we’re starting or you’re just admiring the surgeon’s work?”

“Have you ever thought about piercing your nipples?” Ryan asks, ignoring Brendon’s questions. Brendon just laughs and licks his lips, closing his eyes.

“Now we’re talking.”

Ryan shakes his head and stands up. He turns off the lights, lights up some candles, enough to set the best mood. He takes his time, wanting Brendon to feel a little uncomfortable while he waits, that also gives Ryan time to get in the right mindset. Once the room is dark enough he can get dark enough. Ryan takes his little case and puts it on the bedside table, clicks it open. The rush of power goes straight to his cock and he knows he’s ready. They can start.

First thing first, the zapper is the best tool to warm Brendon up. Ryan loves hearing Brendon’s nervous laugh when he touches the skin with the toy, going up and down. The first electric shock makes him moan, his whole body tensing up, his jaw clenching before letting out another laugh, fuller this time.

“That’s all you’ve got? You should get a real taser,” Brendon tries to provoke him, but Ryan knows too well he can’t give it all to Brendon now, so he keeps warming him up, not really paying attention to Brendon’s sharp tongue.

It’s still a show, watching Brendon get hard just like that, getting off on pain like a teenager watching his dad’s dirty magazines. Ryan was never a sadist, but watching Brendon like this gets him so hot he soon feels the buttons on his jeans digging into his hard cock.

“What a man’s gotta do here to get some fun?” Brendon asks after a particularly painful shock. The inner thighs are always a sensitive spot. It makes Brendon’s cock leak and Ryan’s mouth water. “Are you out of ideas, _sir?_ ” Brendon mocks the word with a smirk, watching Ryan move to the case. “Come on, you promised some hardcore stuff. Show me already.”

Ryan doesn’t answers, but he puts on a pair of latex gloves, taking two needles and moving back to Brendon, raising an eyebrow as he peels the wrapper off one of them.

“Hardcore stuff?” Ryan asks, unamused, looking at the needle when he takes off the cap. “You mean like this?”

_“Shit.”_

There’s hardly anything Ryan loves more than hearing Brendon swear, knowing he’s managed to do it, to impress him, to make him shut up. It’s like music to his ears, hearing the chant of _fuckfuckfuck_ and Brendon’s muffled screams when he puts the needle through Brendon’s right nipple. It looks pretty. It really, really looks pretty, and Brendon looks fucking gorgeous, but Ryan always liked symmetry better.

“Is this too much, baby?” Now it’s Ryan’s time to mock him, asking the question while he pierces the left nipple, watching Brendon having a hard time holding himself straight.

“No. No, keep going. Come on, you promised,” Brendon pants, moving his head so he can make eye contact with Ryan. His pupils are blown, his eyes feverish. “Cut me. Just… just a little. Come on, Ryan.”

“You sound like a junkie,” Ryan laughs.

“Fuck off, it’s not my fault you’re such a coward I need to make it easy for you,” Brendon spits.

“Hey!” Ryan takes the zapper to electrocute him right on his scar, where he knows hurts the most. “Easy there, watch your mouth.”

“You too. Save your humiliation techniques for the rest of your subs,” Brendon replies, and Ryan wants to say a lot of things. He wants to remind him he’s got not other subs, he wants to say he’s right, he shouldn’t have called him a junkie, and he wants to say sorry. He can’t do anything of that, though, because Brendon may not be a sub but Ryan is a dom, and he’s not so good he can break his character and then go back immediately, so he needs to stay in character, but he knows the way to make it up to Brendon.

“I told her I wouldn’t use it, but Z gave it to me anyway,” he says taking a scalpel and looking at it, letting Brendon see it too. “I guess she was right after all.”

“Fuck, Ryan,” Brendon’s eyes get wide, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“You really thought I wouldn’t do it, huh?” Ryan asks, really hoping Brendon can’t see through him, can’t see how scared he really is. He moves down, leaning in and kissing Brendon softly, just so he can’t see how Ryan’s hand is shaking as he moves the scalpel and presses it lightly on Brendon’s flesh. It goes straight to his cock, the way Brendon trembles and pants, his lips shaking under Ryan’s.

“Harder. Make it hurt,” he pleads in a voice Ryan has never heard before. So he does, he presses harder, right below Brendon’s nipple, and he moves right when he feels the skin break under his fingers, when a fat drop of dark blood runs down Brendon’s torso, when Brendon’s breath speeds up, andhe pants, and moans, and curls his toes, coming all over his own stomach, untouched.

“Holy shit,” Ryan gasps, bringing a hand down to grab himself if he doesn’t want to follow Brendon right there. “Brendon. Fuck.”

“Don’t stop!” Brendon demands, and he sounds desperate, in need. “Please keep going. Cut me. Leave a mark,” he says, closing his eyes like he can already see it, like he can already taste it.

Ryan needs to kiss him again, deep and filthy, biting his lips and tongue, growling when he presses the scalpel just a little deeper, and cuts an inch down. Brendon gets goosebumps all over his body. Ryan needs to see it better, so he moves, and fuck if that’s not the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Deeper,” Brendon groans, and he clenches his jaw, his lips trembling.

“It’s deep enough,” Ryan answers, frowning when Brendon shakes his head and pushes himself with his body against the scalpel, making him move his hand away. “What the fuck? Brendon. Red. Fuck. That’s…” He checks if he’s actually cut deeper, looking then at Brendon. “That’s dangerous!”

“Ryan, no. No, please. I need it deeper. I need it to last, I… I want you to make me cry,” Brendon asks and that makes Ryan break his character once an for all. No. That’s a line he won’t cross.

“I said red, Brendon. It’s over. I won’t do that,” Ryan shakes his head, his hands now even more shaky than before, moving behind Brendon and using the scalpel to cut loose the ropes holding Brendon.

“What?” Brendon sits down, looking at Ryan like he can’t believe what just happened. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Are _you_ fucking kidding me?” Ryan opens his eyes wide. “That shit you did right now was fucking dangerous! This is sharp! It could have really hurt you!”

“That’s the point! I need it to hurt, Ryan. I need it to hurt bad, dammit. What kind of dom are you? Getting scared of hurting your sub?”

“We’re not playing anymore, so stop it. It won’t work. I said no. I won’t make you cry, not like that.”

“Ryan. Fuck!” Brendon is getting nervous, anxious, and it makes Ryan feel in danger. He’s not sure of what’s happening but something tells him it’s wrong, and Brendon’s reaction only proves it right. “I want it, okay? I want to fucking cry it out!”

“Cry it out?” Ryan shakes his head, moving closer to Brendon but carefully. Is this what he thinks it is? “Brendon, you don’t need to do it that way. You don’t have to cry it out.”

“Fuck off, what do you know?? How can you know what I need?”

“Well, I know you don’t need to be cut open!”

“I want it, Ryan! Can’t you understand—“

“You want it for all the wrong reasons, Brendon. I won’t do it! I won’t!”

“No! Aren’t you listening to me? Why aren’t you listening? Who are you to judge? I want it cause I need it! I need to get it out and I can’t, Ryan. I just can’t and I need it out. Please!” Brendon breathes hard, his body shaking. “I need to get it out. Please, help me.”

“I want to help you, I want to, I promise, but—Brendon, no!” Ryan takes the scalpel off Brendon’s hand, throwing it away, pushing his whole case to the floor away from Brendon and pushing him back, grabbing him by his shoulders. “Stop it, okay?! I can’t do it! Not like that! I know you need to get it out, but let’s find another way! And I’m sorry if I’m being selfish but I don’t want you to cry because of me. I won’t cross that line, it’s too much! Don’t you understand I can’t? I can’t see you cry and keep hurting you. I can’t fuck it out of you, I can’t punch it out of you. I… I want to hug it out, or kiss it out, I want to hold you and tell you things are going to get better. I want to… to tell you I hired a fucking hitman to get rid of those motherfuckers and I kid you not, they can be happy I’m not filthy rich because I would totally end them. If I could do it and get away with it, I promise you I would, because they’re the ones I really want to hurt. But, you know, I can’t go to jail because I want to be with you too. I need to be with you,” Ryan breathes out a nervous chuckle, shaking his head.

“You’re crazy…” Brendon chuckles too, looking down and biting his bottom lip with a sniff. “And I ruined your scene,” he chokes down, two fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Oh, fuck,” Ryan doesn’t waste a second, wrapping his arms around Brendon, hugging him close right before Brendon finally breaks.

Watching him crying, feeling him crying, brings back a lot of bad memories for Ryan. He hates the last time he saw Brendon crying and he knows he will hate this one too, but at least right now it’s for a good reason. That’s what he hopes at least.

“I hate them,” Brendon says, his words muffled by Ryan’s body and his own tears. “I hate everyone, the guys, the jury, the fucking judge, the lawyers. Not Z but… fuck. I want… I’m supposed to be strong,” he cries, hugging Ryan closer, hiding his face in Ryan’s neck. “I’m supposed to be strong because that’s how you get through shit like this, joking about it and forgetting about it and not letting it get you. But it gets me.” He cries harder, the tears not letting him talk properly. “It gets me and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to be strong.”

Ryan feels it in his chest before it comes out, the tears he can’t control when he watches Brendon like this. He moves them to the bed, just because he knows he can’t carry Brendon’s weight much longer, not like this. He uses this to make Brendon look at him too, thinking maybe that would make the right words magically appear in his head. It doesn’t happen. It just makes him cry even harder.

“You know what? Fuck it. Fuck being strong, who…? Who the fuck said we have to be strong? Huh? What, weak people don’t deserve to be happy too? Also, who the fuck says what strong means? Because I, right now, fuck, Brendon, you’re the strongest person I know. And fucking brave too. Because strong and brave people break too, and they hurt and they get lost, and that’s what makes them strong and brave, keeping up even when they feel like they can’t.” He breathes in and out, swallowing. “And if you really can’t, if you ever feel like you really can’t… then you’ve got me. I’m, not the strongest person ever either, but two is always better than one, right?”

He knows he’s been talking to much when there’s silence the moment he stops. Brendon isn’t crying anymore, he’s just looking at Ryan, like he’s really thinking about what he just said. He’s looking at Ryan so intensely it’s making Ryan blush. He laughs when he realizes it, wiping his tears away and clearing his throat. Brendon laughs too, shaking his head.

“Jesus Christ, Ryan…” Brendon sighs, closing his eyes and leaning in, resting his forehead on Ryan’s just a few seconds before moving a bit forward, kissing him on the lips.

It makes Ryan’s hands a little weak, so he moves one of his hands up and holds Brendon’s face. It allows him to breathe, to open his mouth and to kiss him again. He knows he’s tasting Brendon’s tears and his own too, but it still tastes sweeter than others. For a few minutes, he doesn’t think about it, though. Ryan just enjoys it, enjoys the warmth of Brendon’s lips and how soft they are, enjoys the sweet bites than won’t go any further, enjoys their hands touching and not scratching, enjoys his own heart beating so loud it’s like the soundtrack of the kiss.

So “I should probably go” it’s not what Ryan expects to hear once their mouths are apart. It’s what happens, though, and it shocks Ryan so much Brendon actually has time to put on his underwear and his shirt.

“What? No. Why? Come on,” Ryan laughs awkwardly, shaking his head, standing up too. He doesn’t know how to beg Brendon to stay and not sound desperate. He’s afraid he’ll go straight to the first thing and not even try the second.

“You were right. I was in a bad place and I asked for something I shouldn’t… and I ruined our scene and turned it into a fucking soap opera,” he laughs, wiping his face too.

“No, don’t. Don’t even say that. Don’t be ridiculous, you didn’t ruin anything.”

“Well, I ruined your orgasm,” Brendon laughs, shrugging and taking his pants off the floor. “And I put you in a hard place, it’s like I never learn. I keep asking you for things you don’t have to give me like you owe me shit.”

“But I don’t… Come on, I don’t mind giving them,” Ryan chuckles, his eyes moving to check how Brendon is putting on his pants, taking his shoes too and moving each time closer to the door. “Brendon. Hey. I don’t care. Come on, don’t leave. This is stupid…”

“No, Ryan, you don’t understand,” Brendon smiles and shakes his head, looking at him. “Didn’t you listen? I’m not strong. I can’t do this. I pretended I could, but I can’t. This. Us,” he shakes his head, taking a deep breath. “No. I can’t. I just can’t.”

“What? Why?” And if Ryan was managing his composure poorly before, right then he completely loses it. “I though… We were fine, weren’t we? It was great. Everything was great. We have fun together, we… are friends. What’s wrong?”

“Well, that is what’s wrong!” Brendon turns around, his face towards Ryan, his back hitting the bedroom door. “It’s funny you don’t even notice, but that’s actually even worse. I keep… pushing. I thought we could just fuck and be friends, like that ever works. But you are so nice and keep offering yourself, and we get into deep shit, it gets deeper and deeper and I start feeling the way I did before and… well, that didn’t turn out well because we know we don’t fit, you know you can’t deal with me and I don’t blame you. That’s the thing, now I know it’s not anybody’s fault. We need different shit, and that’s okay. But that doesn’t help when my brain is stupid, because it doesn’t care about any of this and it keeps getting me in deep shit. Like now. Like me knowing you don’t owe me shit but demanding it like you do.”

“Are you even listening to me?” Ryan gets closer, not really getting what’s going on. “I told you, you can do that whenever you want. You can ask me for anything you need!”

“But it’s wrong, Ryan! I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to ask you. You shouldn’t have to take care of me,” Brendon explains. “I forced you to do it, and look what happened.”

“But I want to! Shit, Brendon.” Ryan curses and closes his eyes, regretting his choice of words and taking a deep breath before speaking up again. If he fucks up again, it won’t be because of his stupid mouth. “Please, let me do it. I want to take care of you, I want to be with you when you need me and I want to do it right the first time, but if I can’t… I-I want you to get mad at me and teach me to do it better, but stay. And if you stay, I promise I’ll learn.”

“You want to… Wait, what?” Brendon asks, his expression unsure, but his body moving slightly away from the door, so Ryan knows this is it. This is the time. He needs to do it now or regret it forever.

“I miss you. I miss you so bad sometimes I can’t even breathe. I keep thinking of you, I can’t get you out of my head, I just think of you and wonder why the fuck did I do what I did. Why? How could I be so stupid? How could I be so blind?” Ryan swallows, getting closer and touching Brendon’s face. “I’m so sorry. I regret every word and I regret every second of that day and I just wish I could go back and slap the fuck out of me, make me understand what I was losing.” He breathes deep, looking at Brendon. “I was only happy when I was with you… And I know I won’t be happy again until you’re happy with me too.”

“Ryan, what…” Brendon shakes his head, biting down a smile, trying to stop it from coming out but actually getting out as a chuckle. “Shut up. Don’t you dare to…”

“What? Tell the truth?” Ryan laughs too, taking Brendon’s hand. “It is what it is, I can’t change it, you can’t change it, I thought you might at least know it.”

“We don’t work together,” it’s no the first thing Ryan thought he would hear but it is, so he takes it, because in a way it’s not a lie. Brendon looks down at his hands and says it again. “We don’t work together, Ryan, you already know that.” He says it, but he doesn’t let go of Ryan’s hand.

“Well, maybe… Or maybe we didn’t and now we do. Or maybe we did before even meeting up and now we really don’t. Okay, that’s absurd, but,” Brendon laughs and Ryan does too. “What I’m trying to say is we don’t need to be golden together. You know? There are so many colors… We don’t need to be golden. As long as we’re not red, or purple, I think it can work out.”

“There are a lot of colors,” Brendon smiles, biting down his bottom lip.

“We can even choose one every day,” Ryan says, and Brendon laughs, nodding.

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay?” Ryan raises an eyebrow, smiling, watching Brendon move back to the bed, sitting down.

“Yeah, you’re right. We can choose one color every day. Maybe we can even find one that makes it work out.”

“Well, great. Uh, so have you thought about a color for today?”

“I have,” Brendon says, making a face and moving his hand to make Ryan come sit by his side. “You wanna know which one is it?” he asks with a chuckle, giving Ryan one of those looks, one of those rare ones, one of those that made Ryan feel special, one of those that made him feel loved. Ryan smiles like a fool. Dammit, he need to make this work this time, he can’t lose this again.

“What?” He asks, and Brendon looks around, not really saying anything. “Come on, tell me. What?” He laughs and Brendon just sighs, looking away before giving Ryan a side eye.

“Beige.”

 

 

 


End file.
